_________________Prison, death, didn't matter. Because at least in prison and at least in death I wouldn't be in fuckin Brexit. But then like a flash it came to me. And I realized, fuck man, maybe that's what hell is: the entire rest of eternity spent in fuckin Brexit.

I'm off camping in Wales again at the weekend, however sadly I think the chances of bumping into Gwenno and saying gosh in a Snowdonian forest are vanishingly slim. I'll say gosh to a squirrel instead. Or in fact any creature that's within saying gosh distance. Not female biting midges though, no gosh for them. I know they're only doing their thing, following their biological imperative and all that, but so is the ebola virus.

I do like balderdash, I've noticed 'nonsense' (a lesser cousin of balderdash) has become popular recently to describe pretty much everything, I have a suspicion Noel Fielding may be responsible for it if you know who I mean. More of a Howard Moon man myself.

Anyway I guess my favourite synonym for, well nonsense, would be somethng along similar lines, poppycock or something like that I guess. But BTL, in a working enviroment, I'm afraid I invariably resort to mockery and swearing.

Poppycock.o.k.but "sharp",you can enjoy and take your time with balderdash,also has the advantage of starting of (rather than ending) with sounding rude/reference to male genitalia.I am about 5,such things are important

I see what you're saying but for the 'bal' of balderdash to be registered as something of notable concern by the recipient, or indeed anyone else, you'd need to leave a semicolon's length of time at least before anyone gleaned what you were up to. While in the meantime everyone would be wondering if you had a speech impediment.

One of the most diversely successful bands in 80s twee indiepop history? Not many have a future Turner Prize winner and a future Chief Economist for the Office of Fair Trading.

_________________Prison, death, didn't matter. Because at least in prison and at least in death I wouldn't be in fuckin Brexit. But then like a flash it came to me. And I realized, fuck man, maybe that's what hell is: the entire rest of eternity spent in fuckin Brexit.

First of all the Tawny Owl is back, I can hear it outside doing what sounds like someone doing a bad impression of an owl. Perhaps it is actually some deviant who gets his kicks doing bad owl impersonations in Leeds. Or perhaps it's an owl doing an impression of a deviant who gets his kicks doing bad owl impersonations in Leeds. Or perhaps it really is a Tawny owl.

Anyway I've been off camping again, this time in the 'Forest of Bowland' in Lancashire. This, as you will see, is a bit of a misnomer as said 'forest' has a mere smattering of scrawny trees. Apparently it's a Norman thing and 'forest' used to mean royal hunting ground or some such nonsense. Posh wankers still turn up to murder Grouse there, we camped in front of one of the huts they use. Thankfully at this time it was only occupied by nesting swallows and some sheep.